


pretty as a flower

by AnguishofMyLove



Series: Oh Brother, My Brother! [2]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (2010), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Crossdressing, Gen, kid!Hiccup, pre-adoption of Jack, really really young Hiccup, stepbrothers au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnguishofMyLove/pseuds/AnguishofMyLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Hamish's mother is a very pretty woman and he wants to be pretty too.</p><p>(or Why Hiccup Wears Those Underwear in the Stepbrothers AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	pretty as a flower

**Author's Note:**

> hiccup is around five here and hopefully will mean that oocness isn't as bad as it could be...
> 
> ...i guess...
> 
> also i did not read through this so suckiness is bound to happen. i'll read it and fix it when i can.

Hamish tugged on the drawer, pulled and took a deep breath and pulled harder. His parents’ drawers have been faulty for a while now, since their old television, when it broke because of a blender mishap—why a blender was in the master bedroom is completely irrelevant and should not be divulged in, ever—was being transported out of the room and had been accidentally dropped on the surface of the stack of drawers, and little Hamish, whose arms were nowhere near as strong as either of his parents’, had barely managed to open the drawer and search through it. He could see the silky cloth that is his mother’s clothes and felt his resolve harden.. He furrowed his brows even more, inhaled as much air as he could, adjusted his stance, and _yanked_. The wood made a scraping sound and, finally, the drawer was open halfway. Hamish smiled triumphantly.

Inside the drawer, Hamish could see an array of Valida’s underwear, lacy, plain, light and dark colors, but all silky because if there’s one thing Valida Haddock enjoys, it’s clothes that feel wonderful to her skin, night gowns as well, dark colors and black, all of thin material and just as silky as her underwear. Hamish looked, enthralled, and glided his fingers along the cloth of his mother’s clothes. He leaned closer and he felt his lips quirk up higher. One night gown, dark green in color, with lace decorating the bottom of the dress, was lifted and Hamish could hardly do much more than marvel at the light shine of it, one hand running along its length.

Hamish drew comfort from the feeling of silk, nights of waking up in horror and running to his mother, wrapped around the silk that is her nightwear. He sighed and buried his face on the dress, feeling something ease at the smoothness rubbing along his cheeks. He flopped down on the ground, his thighs making an inaudible smack on his calves. He inhaled the scent of newly washed clothes and the hint of his mother’s scent. All was peace.

His mother had always been beautiful, in her dresses and skirts that flaired out, light colors, sometimes pastel, that brought out the richness of her skin and hair. She was a very pretty lady, and lady she was in her modest but womanly blouses and skirts, sweaters and cardigans, nice simple flats and sandals, and anything she wore simply accentuated the fact.

Hamish tilted his head back to gaze again at the dress in his hands. The gown was big enough, at least for the little Haddock, that it managed to drape itself along his lap and the slightest shift has the materials brushing the skin peeking from his shorts in the softest whisper. He lifted the dress higher, arms extending so he could see better the dress and quickly, he stood up, hurrying to climb up his parents’ bed and rustling the sheets to see himself fully in his parents’ mirror. He brought up the dress, giddy at the image of it along his body. His heart thumped once, twice.

The shirt was quick to go, the shorts less so, and he barely paid heed on his bare body, save for his little briefs, before he took the dress and slid right into it. When he turned to the mirror, he felt a sense of dismay because the gown was too big on him, the straps hanging down to below his nipples and he fisted on the dress. He flopped down to the bed and glared at the dark green and tugged on the straps up. He looked up the mirror, one hand yanking up a strap in bitterness. It was because of that that his left nipple was then covered by the dress grazing his chest. He perked up and took the other strap to pull it up, covering his exposed chest immediately. His face turned sunny and he got an idea.

He quickly got down the bed, hands automatically reaching for the dress to pull it up so he wouldn’t stumble, his heart fluttering at the action though why, he would not know. He went to the mirror and one of its drawers, the highest one on the left, and yanked it open. His hand dug into it, tongue sticking out as he felt through its contents. He was quick to use when he found what he was looking for, two bobby pins his mother sometimes used when she felt like wearing a bun, and had it pinned on the excess lengths of the straps so that his chest was finally covered. When he deemed it satisfactory, judging it by jumping on the balls of his feet a number of times, he grabbed three more bobby pins, just in case, for whatever reason, and went back up the mattress.

He smiled brightly at the better image of himself in the dress, the fluttering feeling coming back at the sight. But he wasn’t quite satisfied. The gown came just a few inches above his ankles and the dress, even with the straps fixed, was still so obviously big on him, flaring out  to look like a really overgrown shirt on his body. He remembers his mother in a night gown, the hem stopping mid-thigh and accentuating her figure without truly hugging her torso. He looked down and bit his lip, tugging on the material around his waist and pushing it to his back. He looked up to scrutinize himself, something singing happily at a job well done, him figuring out the problem. He felt the coldness of the pins on his palm and he gathered the scrunched up material with one hand. He looked by his back and fiddled until the excess was safely tucked into the bobby pins he held in his fist.

Finally, finally, he looked what he wanted to look in the mirror. The pins were secure and, while still looking awkward, Hamish looked _good_ in the dress. He looked _pretty_ , just like his mom. He sucked in a breath, the fluttering in his heart hitting him full force, spreading down to his stomach and his smile turned big and bright. He fluttered the skirt and, just as he guessed, the smoothness of the material was even better on his body. He looked down at the dress, playing with the skirt, and back up the mirror. Pretty. He was Pretty Hamish. He couldn’t help the noise of delight that slipped out from his lips.

“Hamish?”

He looked up, turning to the doorway, and answered giddily, “Mommy! Mommy, look! I’m so pretty!”

Valida stared at her son in shock. The sheets were rumpled by his feet and his clothes were strewn by the bottom of the bed. She was caught at the image of her child, practically still a baby, in her night gown, held together by her pins. He was looking at her, the biggest smile she might probable have ever seen on his face and hands holding on the skirt.

She blinked and shook herself, moving closer to her little Hamish. Her lips quirked up and her face softened. “Yes, Hamish, you look very pretty.” He bounced on his feet at that but she continued, “you don’t have to wear my clothes to look nice, though. You look plenty wonderful in your clothes.” She tugged on a strand of hair lightly, shifting to sit beside Hamish.

She was surprised at the vehemence he displayed when he shook his head in response. “No! I wanna wear dresses! I don’t like my clothes, Mommy.”

Valida frowned and brought Hamish closer. “You don’t like your clothes?”

Hamish squirmed, almost saying ‘I don’t’ impulsively, but he stopped and sat still for a moment before feeling the softness of the gown he was still wearing. “Well. No, I like them, Mommy, but I wanna wear dresses and skirts and the pretty things you wear, too!”

“To feel pretty, Hamish?” she inquired honestly, combing through his hair.

He nodded vigorously. “And ‘cause they’re nice. Their nice and good and I feel good wearing this, Mommy. I wanna be like the girls who can wear dresses and shorts. Why can’t I be like that, Mommy?”

Valida frowned in response. “I don’t really know, dear. People are weird.”

“So weird!” Hamish parroted.

“But,” she continued, “how about I buy you some pretty stuff, baby boy?”

Hamish’s eyes and smile grew even bigger, his chest swelling up, and he fisted his mother’s blouse. “Really?! Mommy, are you gonna?”

“Well,” Valida laughed happily, “maybe not dresses yet—”

Hiccup deflated.

“—but I’ll buy you something just as pretty, yes?”

Hamish smiled brightly up at her. He twisted his hands along the skirt and answered, “yes! Yes!”

Valida laughed again. “Wonderful, baby boy!” She moved Hamish so she could stand again, her hands holding on to her son’s wrists. “Now, do you want to have some cookies? And how about wearing that for the rest of the afternoon? How does that sound?”

Hamish jumped down and followed his mother out the room. “Yes, Mommy!” he called out joyously.

(A few days later, Valida presents his son with a pack of panties, five of different colors and designs but all very clearly feminine.

Hamish shouted in response and tackled his mother to scream, “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyooouuu!”)


End file.
